


As You Wish

by OctoberSkies



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crossover, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Nugs, Silly, The Princess Bride References, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5472980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSkies/pseuds/OctoberSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a Tumblr challenge: I dare you to write a fic with as many Princess Bride quotes/references as possible!</p><p>Varlen Lavellan and the gang have managed to locate the stronghold of one of Corypheus' best captains - a notorious man so corrupted by red lyrium that he has grown an extra finger on his right hand. But will it all be smooth sailing, or will some unexpected surprises foil their attempts to defeat their foes? (Warning: this... really is not to be taken seriously!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	As You Wish

“There you go, buttercup. You have a lovely day now!”

Varlen visibly bristled as the old lady waved, and he offered her a tight smile as he backed away, a pouch of powder clutched tightly in his hand. _Senile old woman_ … Varlen shook his head sharply, scolding himself for his own harshness. He wasn’t sure why he was so on edge. Okay, maybe it was because they had finally tracked one of Corypheus’ captains to the area. Maybe it was because they had a good enough idea of where his stronghold was, but no real clue on how to breach it. Or _maybe_ it was because he had _told that woman_ his name was _Varlen_ , yet she had _still_ insisted on…

“Now now _buttercup_ – keep frowning like that and your face will get stuck!” Dorian’s rich voice wafted over from Varlen’s right, and he shot an angry glare across at the mage.

“Do _not_ call me that.”

“As you wish.” His mouth still curled into a satisfied smirk, Dorian gestured to the pouch. “What’s in there, pray tell?”

“Hm? Oh, this? It’s iocane powder.” Varlen said, and Dorian visible baulked.

“What? And you’re… keeping it in some little leather pouch? Just breathing in the stuff can kill you, you know.”

“It’s fine.” Varlen said dismissively, tucking it into his belt. “I spent my last few years with my clan building up an immunity to iocane powder.”

“Half your luck.” Dorian grumbled, rather unsubtly putting another foot’s distance between himself and the strolling elven man. Just to be safe. “Where are the others?”

“Who? Bull and Varric?” Varlen asked, and when Dorian nodded, he frowned. “I’m… not sure. They said they’d meet us by the cliff at sundown though. Should we just head there?”

“Of course. But we have a moment’s time. Perhaps we should… steel our nerves for the coming battle while we can? Say, with a bottle of the most expensive wine available at the tavern over there?”

Varlen laughed, his eyes warm as they met Dorian’s. “You are _wonderful_.”

“Thank you; I’ve worked hard to become so.”

* * *

“I don’t suppose you can speed things up?” Dorian drawled as Bull grunted somewhere up ahead, his hulking form like a giant black shadow rising from the earth. They had located the stronghold that contained the man they believed they sought. A former Templar so corrupted by red lyrium that he had grown an extra finger on his right hand. They knew not his name – everyone simply referred to him as the Six-Fingered Man.

“If you're in such a hurry, you could push, or find something useful to do.” Bull grunted, sweating as he heaved a heavy wooden cart up the hill. “It would also… be  _easier_ … if you would all…  _get out._ ”

Yes. They were all sitting in the cart, being towed up the steep incline by their large companion. Rather comfortably, really. No, they had no intention of getting out.

“Doing well, big-guy!” Varlen encouraged cheerily, and Bull shook his head, not dignifying it with a response. Beside the elven man, Varric sighed, leaning back slightly, his blue eyes drinking in the darkened countryside as it awkwardly lurched past in time with Bull’s steps.

“You know what the best thing is about all of our little adventures? _Endless_ _inspiration._ ” Varric declared to no one in particular, his deep voice lilting almost wistfully. “Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles… they all make for good romance serials. Ones those Orlesians just _lap up_.”

“Wonderful. I’ll try to stay awake through your next one.” Dorian chimed snidely, and Varric shot him a stung look.

“Oh, well, thank you very much, very nice of you. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming, Sparkler.”

The conversation died down as they breached the hill, and the stronghold came into view. The walls soared up high – higher than they could hope to feasibly scale. They would have to get in through the gate…

“We have to get in through the gate.” Varlen declared.

“What? Inconceivable.” Snapped Dorian, applying an alarming amount of vigour to the word. “What do you suppose we do? Stroll up and tell them we’re here to deliver a barrel of peanuts?”

“That Dorian, he can fuss.” Varric muttered, and Bull nodded, folding his massive arms across his equally massive chest.

“I think he likes to scream at us.”

“He probably means no harm.” Varlen leapt to his amatus’ defence quickly as Dorian stiffened at the accusations. Bull just shrugged.

“He’s really very short on charm.” The giant Qunari observed callously, although there was a hint of amusement riding upon his breath.

“Well, I appreciate a good rhyme as much as the next man, but now I _know_ you’re just making things up.” Dorian rolled his eyes and exited the cart, followed by the nimble Varlen. Crouching down behind it and gazing around at the gate, Varlen clenched his jaw. It was possible that they could sneak around, provided the guards were distracted well enough and they could blend into the shadows. But the distraction…

“What I wouldn’t give for a holocaust cloak…” Varlen muttered.

“Will this do?”

Varlen frowned, glancing back at Bull, who was indeed holding a holocaust cloak in his giant hand. Both Varlen and Dorian raised their eyebrows and exchanged shocked glances. _That was convenient._

“Where did you get that?” Dorian demanded, and Bull shrugged nonchalantly.

“At some place in town. Miracle Max’s, I think. It fits so nice, he said I could keep it. He’s a good man, even if he’s got a few screws loose.” Bull paused. “Max said he used to work for the captain we’re after, but was fired.”

“Ah. Did he happen to know his name?” Dorian asked, and Bull shook his head. It was the one piece on information that had eluded them thus far.

“Nah. Just said something about six fingers, and that he isn’t even the guy in charge of this place. Apparently everyone answers to some overseer called Humperdink. And before you start, _yeah_ —” Bull added the last part hurriedly, spying the glimmer of delight that sparked in Varlen’s eyes, “— _I_ _know_.”

“Poor bastard. And I thought _my_ parents were assholes.” Varric scoffed as he joined the others, his short legs struggling slightly to navigate the descent from the cart. “Alright, listen up. Here’s what we’re going to do…” 

* * *

 

The two guardsmen were on high alert, their eyes sweeping back and forth. Meticulously. _Calculatedly_.

Over a very old, very dirty chessboard.

Because while they were indeed _on duty_ , they were so bored that they had resorted to playing a game of strategy that neither of them really knew the rules for. After all, their particular job that night was always a dull affair, and they rarely had any form of entertainment with which to distract themselves. But that night, they figured _why not._ No one was stupid enough to just walk right up to the gate and demand entrance to the stronghold, after all.

However, their friendly match of chess was suddenly interrupted by a rather ominous figure, who just walked right up to the gate.

“I demand entrance to the stronghold.” The robed man said in a deep, growling voice. The guards, with a degree of horror, noted that the speaker was extremely tall, and cowled in a massive black cloak that completely hid his features. They exchanged bewildered glances as they scrambled to their feet, their hands immediately groping for their swords.

“S-State your business!” S-Stammered one of the guardsmen as his companion unsheathed his weapon. He could see the blade trembling as it was held out before his associate. It was about as menacing as a wet noodle before the huge stranger.

“Trader.” The giant man grunted simply, gesturing backwards. Indeed, there was a cart a few yards back, with what appeared to be dark bundles in it. “Supplies.”

The guard with the drawn sword swallowed. This stranger was clearly a man of few words, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross him. His partner, however, possessed a bit more of a backbone.

“Right then. If that’s the case, you won’t mind us checking your cart before you go in.”

“As you wish.” 

* * *

 

Varlen, Dorian, and Varric slipped into the area silently, although Varlen was still a little sensitive about not being allowed to wear the big, scary cloak himself. But it was Bull’s, and he supposed the Qunari needed it more than he did for his distraction routine. No doubt he’d make short work of the guards and join them soon anyway…

“Stay alert,” Dorian murmured, moving closer to Varlen, as though his proximity would somehow ensure safety, “and keep an eye out for the N.O.U.S.’s.”

“What are N.O.U.S.’s?” Varlen hissed back, looking slightly alarmed and almost causing Dorian to run into him as he stopped suddenly. As Dorian muttered a sharp _kaffas_ , Varric took the opportunity to deliver his own incredulous statement.

“Nugs Of Unusual Size?” The dwarf directed the question at Dorian, an eyebrow cocked. “I don’t think they exist.”

Varlen breathed a sigh of relief, and Dorian simply shrugged and said nothing. They continued across the courtyard, hugging the walls, occasionally slipping into the shadows when a patrol wandered past, although no one was on particularly high alert. It seemed his _Humperdink’s_ men had grown confident in their position and their monopoly over the nearby villages, and as such, had grown _lazy_. When they finally made it to the large building that they assumed housed General Humperdink and the Six-Fingered Man, Varlen dropped down to one knee, working furiously on the lock with his picks as Dorian and Varric kept watch. After a moment, the door clicked open, and Varlen pushed it, beckoning the others to go through. Once all three were inside, Varlen gently closed it again, releasing a breath he had not realised he’d been holding. As they sidled carefully through the long, alarmingly empty hallway, they began looking for stairs. The high-ranking enemy was _always_ upstairs, after all. Sometimes in the highest possible room, for adequate haughtiness. However, as Varlen picked the lock of a rather sturdy, reinforced door out of sheer curiosity, he froze, blue eyes widening impossibly and pricking with tears of panic.

_"SQUEAK!"_ ****

* * *

 

Bull tossed the rock aside and the one remaining guard dropped his sword, squaring off against him. It was like a sheep attempting to size up an elephant.

“We face each other as is intended. Sportsmanlike. No tricks, no weapons, skill against skill alone.” Bull’s face had curled in a vicious grin. He knew he had the upper hand, and judging by the knocking of the guard’s knees, so did he.

“F-Frankly, I think the odds are slightly in your favour at hand fighting.” The guard choked, clearly on the verge of tears. Or wetting himself. Bull hoped he could finish this fast and avoid finding out which.

“Hey, it’s not my fault being the biggest and strongest.” Bull shrugged, lowering himself a touch, arms spread wide as he shifted into a grappling stance. He beckoned with his hand mockingly. “I don’t even exercise.” 

* * *

 

Varlen barely had a moment to react before he was set upon by a giant, pink, hairless tornado of fury and teeth. It hit him faster than the pungent odour of the room – hot and acrid - and Varlen cried out, forgetting the requirement for stealth, as he was knocked flat on his back. His daggers scattered off to either side from the force of the impact, flying from his grip. He’d had no choice but to let them go – he suddenly needed his hands to stop the nug’s snapping jaws as it lunged for his head. The nug had two sharp teeth – like a rat’s fangs – which were largely unnoticeable on the smaller variety of nug, but were _alarmingly visible_ on those of Unusual Size. Gasping frantically, Varlen scrabbled with his feet, trying in vain to push the N.O.U.S. off him, but lacking the strength and leverage to do so. He lost grip momentarily as the giant nug shifted, and as those jaws came snapping unhindered towards his head, he did the only thing he could think of.

Varlen threw his arm across his face, hoping in vain to stop the giant, angry nug from biting off his face or neck, but instead permitting it to clamp down hard on his forearm. He felt the teeth sink into his skin, all the way to its rancid gums, and he screamed in pain as a sharp sting followed by _pure agony_ flooded the shaking limb. Vaguely, he heard a cry of _amatus!_ from somewhere down the hall, but he couldn’t focus on it. His head was swimming and he tried to use his free arm to punch the nug in the face and dislodge it. Unfortunately, due to his light-headedness, his attacks were feeble, and it wasn’t working.

Mercifully, Varlen wasn’t left as an N.O.U.S.’s chew toy for long. A fireball suddenly ripped past, catching the giant nug and setting it alight! It screamed – a high-pitched squeak that stabbed at the ear-drums – and barrelled back into the room it had once resided in, thrashing wildly in a cloud of smoke. Varric appeared from somewhere behind Varlen, and ran past swiftly to close the heavy door, locking it again as Dorian skidded on his knees to Varlen’s side. The mage’s hands swiftly found the bloody limb, tearing away at the shredded fabric to reveal the mauled flesh beneath.

“T… Thank you.” Varlen gasped, leaning into Dorian as the man worked hurriedly to cut strips off of his own beloved outfit to use as makeshift bandages, winding them around the wound to stem the bleeding.

“No need for thanks.” He said, but his voice wavered slightly. Then, the mage’s countenance hardened, and his eyes flashed up to look at Varric. “But honestly Varric – what were you doing? You were just… _standing there._ The whole time! _Watching_ while Varlen was being mauled!”

Varric honestly looked bewildered, wearing the expression of a person who had just completed a most incredible (or in this case, quite the _opposite_ ) feat, but had no idea how or why they had done it. He raised his hands, as though in surrender, and approached the pair.

“I can’t explain it. It’s like I forgot how to be useful for a second there.” He admitted sheepishly, still confused as he helped tie off the bandages with deft fingers. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry, Snowy.”

“Utter _uselessness_ , that’s what came over you.” Dorian snapped, but Varlen jabbed pointedly him with his good elbow.

“It’s fine.” The elven man said through clenched teeth, shaking his companions off and getting to his feet once he was satisfied with the bandage. His brow was covered in sweat, and he now smelled like nug droppings and putrid saliva. _Fantastic._ “Come on, we need to find the Six-Fingered Man and Humperdink before _they_ find _us_. They are bound to know we are here by now.” 

* * *

 

Humperdink and Captain Rugen, his notoriously six-fingered companion, paced the room they had fled to, barricading themselves inside after they had heard furious screaming somewhere on the floor beneath them. It seemed that the people who had managed to breach their stronghold were horrifyingly powerful, and had not only easily incapacitated the soldiers on duty, but had evoked such intense fear in those at the main garrison that were literally _shrieking_ in horror. Well, it was that, or the N.O.U.S.’s had gotten loose again. _Either way_ , Humperdink reasoned, _locking themselves in the panic room was the default course of action until things were once again in order_.

“Sir…” Captain Rugen said tentatively, his eyes trained out the window. “… Is that… fire?”

“What?” Humperdink demanded, stalking over imperiously. He _always_ worked under the assumption that everyone around him was over exaggerating at all times. It had become a habit, and one he had found often well justified. But, as Rugen had so astutely observed, plumes of smoke were indeed billowing up into the air, just beyond the main gate, rising like a thick cloud. The soldiers and guardsmen were roused from their sleep, and shouts began to drift through the air as realisation dawned. Humperdink could see the men and women as they rushed about, grabbing any vessel they could to attempt to douse the encroaching flames.

“We are definitely under attack.” Rugen commented, and Humperdink scoffed derisively.

“This garrison alone is guarded by thirty men. We are safe.” He declared confidently. A voice behind him affirmed his assertion.

“Yes, quite safe indeed. Good thing they are clearly amateurs.”

“Precisely!” Humperdink agreed with a satisfied nod, but Rugen was faster to catch on. The Six-Fingered Man whirled away from the window, drawing his blade, the shards of red lyrium growing from his skin almost crackling in fury.

“Who are you?” Rugen demanded as Humperdink finally worked out that they were no longer alone. The white haired man leaning on the doorframe smirked, his daggers already in hand. Humperdink’s eyes drifted to the stranger’s right arm – mess of torn cotton and blood. He was injured. _Good_.

"Hello. My name is Varlen Lavellan." The silver-haired elf said sternly, his eyes burning as he stepped into the room. "You killed my father. Prepare to die."

Rugen frowned, and tossed a glance over his shoulder at Humperdink, who shrugged with equal confusion.

"Wait... what? I have killed many men, yes, but uh... remind me again... who was your father?"

"Were you not involved with the slaughter of my clan? Clan Lavellan, of the Free Marches?" The elf named Varlen hissed the words, beginning to circle in time with Rugen's measured steps. Humperdink wished he knew what on earth the elf was going on about.

" _What_?" Rugen's steps faltered slightly. He was genuinely perplexed, and that seemed to register with their assailant, whose predatory prowl also wavered.

"Oh. Okay then!" The elf had a look on his face as though he had stricken a name off a mental list. "But I mean, y'know... _regardless.._. prepare to die."

A smirk flitted across Rugen's face, and he raised his sword, held in a firm, six-fingered grip. Humperdink, for his part, retreated to the far end of the room, willing to allow his Captain to slay the intruder so they could return to their regular schedules. While this was a rather significant inconvenience, it was just an inconvenience nonetheless. Humperdink was confident that Rugen could win. 

* * *

 

"To the _pain_ , Snowy - not to the _death_! We need to bring him back to Skyhold alive!" Varric's voice halted Varlen's blade as it was mere inches from Humperdink's trembling throat. The fight with Rugen had not lasted long. Sure, Varlen was injured, but he was also rather good with dual daggers. Evidently, Rugen had been… well... _less good_ at defending against them. That or the six fingers on his right hand were more of a burden than an aid. After all, Varlen had made a point to strike the hilt of his sword and lop the strange lyrium one off. Just for good measure.

After that, Rugen had been so distracted by having his main identifier severed that he all but gave up. He was now sitting despondently on the ground. His blade was in Dorian's possession, who had arrived with Varric moments after the No-Longer-Six-Fingered Man had surrendered. Now, their attention was on Humperdink, who did not even possess a weapon, so Varlen felt it safe to assume he would be of little difficulty. _The man was too busy blubbering to really pose much of a threat,_ Varlen mused with a slight twinge of irritation. It was a little pathetic that the most dangerous opponent he had faced that day, in the heart of a stronghold that stuck fear into the nearby lands, had been an oversized nug.

"A job well done, I think." Dorian declared as Humperdink gave the order to surrender, and the remaining soldiers put down their arms or fled. "Although I expected something a tad more _climactic_."

"Yeah me too..." Varlen mumbled, then hissed gently as he moved his arm a little too fast, feeling the wound tug angrily beneath the soaked bandage. The adrenaline had worn off, and the pain was finally catching up to him. "... _Damn it_."

"Careful now, don't strain yourself." Dorian chided as he strolled over, seemingly confident of Varric's ability to bind the hands of their surrendered foes. Varlen winced, but nodded, lowering the injured limb slowly to his side with clenched teeth. Before the window, the mage met the rogue, the two men equally pleased by a job well done, and grateful that they had made it out alive. Then, Dorian suddenly raised his hand to Varlen's chin, hooking a finger under it. His grey eyes burned with warmth that flooded the air between them - one that breathed relief and adoration in equal part. It did not matter that Varlen was coated in blood - some of his own, some from other, more questionable sources. It did not matter that he smelled vaguely like mouldy hay, mixed with the dung of a den-animal. And it even did not matter that there were thick tendrils of smoke beginning to snake up the side of the building, evidently caused by The Iron Bull, and his unique ability to accidentally set _everything_ on fire.

In the room, only one thing burned, and it was passion. Love.

_True love._

Dorian's lips formed a gentle smile, curving with a tenderness that he typically reserved for private moments spent _not_ in the presence of vanquished enemies or not-vanquished comrades. But not that day. Drawn in by his smouldering lover, Varlen closed his eyes, feeling a shiver run from his toes up his spine, and as they reached for each other…

_.... Ahh, it's kissing again. You don't want to hear that._

 

 


End file.
